FIC: Flight of the Phoenix ~ Stand-alone (1/3)
Title: Flight of the Phoenix ~ Part one of three
Authors: aussie and bugs
Genre: A/U (of the A/U), Romance, Humor
Word Count:17,700
Rating: M
A/N: So sorry, faithful readers. We will get back to Unavailable, we swear. But we needed a fic for about_time's 12 Days of Christmas, so we went to our favorites, the Adams!
"Children, see you tomorrow," the schoolteacher called after her students as they streamed out of the small schoolhouse.
"Goodbye, Miss Roslin," a few strangled cries replied. The boys tossed a ball among themselves as they skipped down the country road toward their homes. The girls gathered in chattering knots and followed behind. None of them gave any more attention to their middle-aged teacher as she lingered on the school steps.
She should wipe off the chalkboards and gather the books. Sweep the floor, clean the washroom... Instead, she snagged her book from her desk, wandered to a little creek which bordered the dusty playground, and sank down in the shade of an oak tree.
She loved teaching, loved her students, but needed these moments in her own secret world. Slipping off her sensible, low-heeled shoes and opaque stockings, she dropped her feet into the cooling waters of the stream. Then she opened her thick leather-bound book. With curious children's eyes gone, there was no one to notice that she kept a slim paperback with bright colors and a racy image on the cover between the pages of her serious tome.
A damp nose touched the back of Laura's neck under her sensible bun of thick hair, causing her to gasp. "Jake," she scolded her shephard.
When the dog settled down beside her, his bright eyes watching sparrows swooping along the water, Laura returned to her book, adjusting her glasses. She was transported worlds away from her own small town life of teaching classes, housekeeping and gardening on Saturday, church on Sunday. No dull days--no, these pages held rain-slicked streets, treacherous women, braver than Laura could ever be, and hard-eyed men who made her heart race.
There was not a single exciting man in Adair, Iowa--not even Richard Adair himself.
A deep roar filled the air; an airplane approached the schoolhouse and her adjourning family farm.
Changing her focus from the page to the sky, Laura squinted upward. The strong afternoon sun glowed on the silver belly of the plane, coming in too low and too fast.
Laura leapt up, her books falling forgotten by her feet.
Jumping the stream, she ran, waving her arms wildly in the air to gain the pilot’s attention. He was bearing down on her farm's barn. Beside her Jake barked and spun in circles.
The plane clipped the windvane off the barn, then banked, coming back toward the cornfield with its waving green stalks, and straight at Laura. She stopped, horrified, as the plane touched down, tearing up plants, bounced up again, then down with a sickening crunching sound, digging up dirt and corn stalks as it slowed.
"Jake!" Laura yelled, calling her dog back. Grabbing him close, she fell to the ground, hoping for some protection from the whirling propellers of the speeding plane. Her hair fell out of its bun and her glasses slid off her nose.
The plane finally came to rest a dozen yards from the teacher and her companion. She struggled to her feet. The propellers were still turning, catching her cotton dress's skirt, flipping it up high above her waist. Fighting to shove it down, Laura cursed in an unladylike fashion, even more angry with each indignity.
Bill Adams pushed back the canopy on his single-seat experimental airplane and wriggled out of the tight cockpit. He clamored onto the wing of the listing ship. Pushing up his goggles, he unfastened the chin strap on his flying helmet and looked around. He'd been concentrating on landing, but he swore he'd seen a woman running across the field after a dog, and the flash of a great set of gams--
"Excuse me!" yelled at him from below the wing.
He peered down. A barefoot woman stood among trampled corn, covered in mud, her face dirty, and red curls tangled around her angry face. Green eyes blazed at him. Her well-shaped chest heaved. A farm lass from the look of it--
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she immediately demanded.
He slowly removed his helmet. “Landing,” he drawled, jumping down from the wing. Completely undaunted, the woman stepped closer. He saw she was older than he’d thought at first. Maybe she was the farmer’s wife; come to demand money.
A black and white dog slinked from behind her, growling menacingly, its lips curled back to bare sharp teeth. Bill crouched down, removing his gloves as he did, and offered the dog the back of his hand.
While he petted and scratched the dog, its mistress kept ranting: “Landing on my crops! Right next to a schoolhouse too. When there’s a road just over there.”
“It’s not wide enough,” he tried to explain. “I would have knocked out a couple of miles of telephone poles. Plus there was a vehicle on it already.”
“There was?” Temporarily distracted by the idea, the woman stood on tiptoes as if she could see the road from their current position. “Oh yes, that’ll have been Sam returning from the feed store. He can help you right this thing and get on your way.”
Bill squinted at the plane’s tires, bogged down in the field's soil. Her husband, Sam, had been in a pickup. Bill assumed they had a tractor, but would it damage his creation to be dragged from the cornfield?
“I’ll need more than a little help,” he said, running his hand along the fuselage next to its name painted on the aluminum; Phoenix. It didn’t feel like it had overheated, at least. “Have you got a telephone, ma’am? I need to put through a call to San Francisco and a local mechanic. I’ll pay--”
She placed her hands on her hips. “You betcha you’re going to pay, buster,” she growled.
With a sigh, he looked over her head, noting the ripped up trail of crops the plane had caused. “I’ll wire through some money to cover the damage and the rental of your barn.”
She swung her head toward the barn and then back to him. He kept his gaze respectfully on the ground near her feet. Although, her trim calves reminded him of the quick view of the full length of her legs.
“My barn?”
“If I could just keep the plane there while it’s repaired,” he said evenly. "I passed over storm clouds about ten miles back. Rain is coming."
“Look, Mr...”
“Adams. Bill Adams,” he introduced himself.
He saw her expression alter when his name and the dollar signs associated with it registered. He tensed, waiting for one of the usual acts which dames put on when thinking about fame and fortune.
“The Bill Adams?”
Who hadn't heard of Bill Adams? Hero of the Great War, son of a wealthy California ranching and now oil family, brave aviator, chased by every heiress and starlet now that he was widowed--his photograph was constantly in her Chicago newspapers.
She hadn't recognized him at first. In the flesh, he looked rougher and frankly, tougher than the gentleman in evening dress or standing by one of his airplanes with a silk flying scarf around his neck. His gaze was alive and mesmerizing, coming from vivid blue eyes. His dark hair was obviously curly when not held in place by hair oil. But his neatly trimmed mustache seemed out of place on his rugged face, as though he were trying to be Clark Gable.
Keeping all these thoughts to herself, she eyed him up and down a couple of times. “I’ve seen your picture in the paper. You look shorter in real life,” she added sarcastically.
He raised one eyebrow. “Don't worry, I can cut anyone down to size when necessary,” he shot back, but then took a deep breath. “Say, Mrs--”
“Miss. Miss Laura Roslin.”
Unmarried? Perhaps she’d lost a sweetheart in the Great War-- “I can’t appeal to your patriotism? Our boys will be flying this exact plane in the coming war,” he noted, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.
“America’s not in the war,” she reminded him.
“We will be soon,” he declared solemnly. “We’ll--”
Bill never got to finish his lecture. Instead, they both heard a tractor puttering across the field, following the plane’s path, a well-built young man bouncing on the seat.
“Looks like the cavalry’s arrived,” Bill murmured, turning back to his reluctant hostess.
As though her approaching field hand reminded her of propriety, she began twisting her hair up in its bun. “You may use the barn,” she agreed ungraciously. “And the telephone.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Laura stomped over to where her glasses had fallen in the mud. She tried to put them on, but the frames were twisted and the lenses smeared with mud.
"I'm sorry," he said, completely sincere.
"I just need them for reading," she said tightly.
"I can repair them." He held out his hand and after a moment's hesitation, she gave them to him. He slipped them in his jacket pocket.
Sam hopped off the tractor. "What's this, Miz Roslin?" he said in his slow, careful way.
"A particularly large crow has pulled up our crops, Sam."
"I'll pay for those as well," offered Bill.
Laura tossed her head and a curl came loose from her bun again. He smiled at her, a flash of strong white teeth under his narrow black mustache. Before she could think of a retort, he turned his attention to Sam, explaining carefully how to hook up the valuable airplane.
Seeing the men occupied, Laura remembered her books, and wandered as nonchalantly as she could manage back toward the stream.
"I'll meet you up at the barn," she called out. Bill raised his head and waved at her; Sam continued to work at the ropes he was attaching to the plane.
She was used to Sam's polite indifference. But this stranger's gaze was too familiar by a half. She'd have to keep her guard up with such a man as this, accustomed to ladies falling at his feet and giggling at his every word--he'd cut her down to size indeed!
Even Jake was proving to be smitten. He always enjoyed their visits to the shady area beside the stream but now, instead of skipping along behind her, sniffing curiously at every blade of grass, he sat at Bill Adams’ feet. She never knew her pet to be such a fickle beast.
Pulling on her hose and shoes, she gathered up her books and crossed the brook again at the small footbridge on the path to her farm. By now, Sam was hauling the downed plane across the field and the flier followed behind, his leather jacket, jodhpurs and high boots looking particularly ridiculous in an Iowa cornfield.
But by the time she entered the barn and was blinking at the darkness, Bill Adams had retrieved his small travel bag from the plane and changed into greasy coveralls.
He was speaking to Sam about a mechanic to contact. Jake met her at the door and nudged her hand. She huffed, but gave him a quick pat before he moved to near the barn door where he curled up to doze.
"Giles Tyrol's probably your best bet," Sam said. "He takes care of our tractors."
"This isn't a tractor," Bill said in horror.
"Why don't your run over to Mr. Tyrol's house and fetch him," suggested Laura. "He's not on the telephone," she explained to Bill.
He shook his head. "In these modern times, to not have a phone--"
"Not everyone trusts those wires coming into their house," Sam said, indignant. "God knows what those things might be doing."
Bill started to protest but Laura waved Sam away.
"I'll light a lantern," she said stiffly once they were alone. She set her books on the workbench, but they slipped and fell to the ground.
"Let me get those..." Bill said before she could stop him. His eyebrows raised at the racy cover of her potboiler. "Well, well, Miss Roslin."
She improvised quickly. "One of my students. I'd confiscated it."
She was a terrible liar; she could hear it in her voice. Also, she hated that she had to lie at all--worry about what people would think. Oh, to be one of this man's sort of women, who'd laugh this moment off and offer him a cocktail and a cigarette. Her only pack of cigarettes were hidden in an old shoebox under her bed, bought on her last trip to Des Moines so not to be seen by any local townfolk making such a scandalous purchase, and her only alcohol was to rub on cuts.
"Okay," he said with an easy smile, and set her books back on the workbench.
"How long do you expect to be here?" she asked, hoping to change the topic.
"At least overnight," he admitted. "I may have to tear this motor down even."
"Oh no," she gasped. "...You'll need a place to sleep."
"S'pose so," he said and there was that grin again.
"You can't sleep at the house," she whispered.
The first crack of lightning could be heard in the distance, and the air was suddenly humid.
"Of course not," he said.
She strode over to the ladder to the hayloft. "You're welcome to sleep up here. I'm sure it's nothing like what you're accustomed to."
"You'd be surprised at what I'm used to," he rejoined.
Just to show him that she was game, she started to climb the ladder. Halfway up, and feeling the breeze rising in her skirt, she realized this was a mistake.
"Just this way," she said briskly but not daring to look down for fear of seeing him taking a peek.
"Sure," he said, sounding amused. The ladder creaked at his added weight, and she scrambled up into the hayloft in a very undignified fashion.
"I'll bring some blankets from the house," she explained as she turned around to face him.
He climbed into the loft. "That would be nice. Thanks."
"I'm sure you're used to satin sheets," she said, a challenge in her voice.
"Silk."
"Not hay," she pointed out.
He fell back onto the mound of crisp hay, putting his hands behind his head. "Reminds me going to the family ranchero as a boy. My uncle had a place..."
"Yes, you're from an old California family."
"You know a lot about a man from far away."
She touched her hair again, checking for any stray strands. "You're a very famous man, Mr. Adams. I believe in keeping up on current events, for the sakes of my students. Just because they live in Adair, Iowa, doesn't mean they should be ignorant as to the ways of the world."
"Yes, the world is coming to them, whether they want it or not."
"This war you're convinced is going to happen?" she said sharply.
"In your reading of current events, you don't believe it'll happen?"
"President Roosevelt says--"
He chuckled, a deep, rich sound in the dark and she forgot what they were talking about for a moment.
"The President says what he knows Congress and certain other political forces want to hear. He'll do what is necessary for America's interests and those of our allies."
"Well, of course he's helping England and France--"
"And Norway--" His grin was bright in the dim light.
"I am concerned about profiteers pushing us into this war so they may make money," she said, her voice rising. She glanced into the barn below to his plane.
His smile disappeared. "You may be assured I am not such a person. I was in the last war to end all wars. I know that the best way to end wars is superior weaponry. And I'll do everything in my power to provide that when the time comes."
"I suppose you should call San Francisco," she said, overcome by the tension in the air.
"Yes, thank you," he said, equally put off.
Suddenly, the barn filled with the clattering of rain and hail.
"The storm broke," she said unnecessarily.
"Maybe we should stay up here a bit longer," he said, the warmth back in his tone.
From below, Sam called out, "Anyone here?" He lit a lantern, the warm light glowed in the evening's gloom.
Irrationally furious, Laura stuck her head through the hatch. "Yes, Sam, what is it?"
"What're you doin' up there, Miz Roslin?" he asked.
"I was showing Mr. Adams the accommodation," she tossed back.
Bill's laugh sounded wicked in the dark, a warm breath on her neck. He must be very close...
"I've got Giles," Sam replied, incurious. "He's here to help with this here airplane."
Of course, he wouldn't imagine the schoolmarm would be up to something in the hayloft, Laura thought angrily as she swung out onto the ladder.
But she responded with her cool, tempered voice as she descended: "Thank you, Sam and Giles."
Bill followed, and she glanced up to see his strong thighs taking the rungs one by one. She allowed herself to enjoy the view for a brief moment, then turned away.
"I'll get up to the house and start supper," she announced, "and leave you gentlemen to it."
Sam introduced Bill to the friendly-faced mechanic and the flier shook Tyrol's hand.
"Speaking of supper," said Bill, "could I borrow the truck to go to town for some grub?"
Sounding utterly ungracious, even to her, she said, "I'll be happy to provide you with a meal, Mr Adams. I cook for Sam as well."
Sam jerked his head to Tyrol with more animation than he'd shown yet to Bill "Actually, Miz Roslin, Giles offered me supper with him and Sharon. I'll be drivin' him back over there anyways."
"So just the two of us." Bill Adams' smile was back.
"Just the two of us," Laura said faintly, then backed away and hurried from the barn, the slashing rain not even registering on her suddenly heated limbs.
Once safely inside her bedroom, she hurried to change from her wet clothing. She slid the sodden blouse off her shoulders, instantly finding herself imagining it was Bill Adams’ hands dragging at the material so that he could touch her bare skin...
She threw the blouse across the room, and it landed with a satisfying plop. The rest of her clothing joined it until she formed a pile in the corner.
She quickly donned her plain white underwear and searched through her wardrobe for something to wear that would keep her inappropriate thoughts about Bill Adams at bay. Finally she settled on a long, loose brown skirt and a high collared white blouse, an outfit she wore when Reverend Cavill preached the Sunday services.
After a quick check in the mirror to assure that her hair was again tightly secured in a bun, she was heading to the kitchen. Once there she wondered about her foolish offer to make dinner. She was quite certain there could be nothing suitable for a man who was accustomed to dining as Bill Adams was sure to be. A man of his wealth would have a slew of servants waiting on him, including a chef. While her cooking hardly received glowing accolades. Her basket was always the last bid on at the church picnics.
A sharp knock made her jump.
“Miss Roslin?” Bill Adams called to her through the screen of the open back door.
She willed herself to keep her movements unhurried despite her pounding heart. This man would have enough eager women throwing themselves at his feet.
Still, when she opened the screen door, she found herself leaning against jamb, striking a pose like some femme fatale straight out of a movie.
“Oh, Mr Adams, you’re all wet,” she breathed. He'd shed his coveralls as a way to dress for dinner, but was drenched as he'd run from the barn to the house. His khaki shirt clung to his wide shoulders and she didn't dare let her gaze drop to his damp snug jodhpurs.
“Yeah,” he ran his hand through his hair, squeezing out some of the excess moisture, and drawing attention to the dark waves curling up of their own accord at his collar.
“Mr Adams--”
“Call me Bill,” he suggested.
“All right,” she agreed. She licked her lips and leaned more heavily against the jamb for support. “Laura,” she offered, longing to hear his husky tones repeat her name aloud.
Jake chose this moment to join them. Having followed Bill Adams through the rain back to the house, he took it upon himself to shake out his fur vigorously, sending spray in her direction.
“Jake. Bed,” she scolded, jumping out of the way.
As the dog slinked away with his tail between his legs and settled into a basket at the other end of the porch, Laura realized she was now standing very close to Bill Adams. He braced his hand above her hand on the jamb, as if sheltering her from the rain pouring off the porch roof behind him.
Standing straighter, she glanced over her shoulder. “Did you want to use the telephone?”
“Later," he said. "Brought you these." He drew out her spectacles from his shirt pocket where they'd remained safe and dry.
“You’ve fixed them already?”
He shrugged, nonchalant. “Mr Tyrol seems to be quite capable. I had less to explain about my plane's engine than I thought.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing past him to the lanterns burning in the barn. Giles and Sam seemed well occupied...
"So you'll be off at dawn?" she asked, her voice cracking.
He didn't answer her question. “Try them on.” He opened the stems and held the glasses to her face. “I might need to adjust them again,” he added.
“Don’t let me keep you.” She waved her arm toward the phone hanging on the wall. “I can get them adjusted in town tomorrow if they aren’t right.”
“No need to spend your time on something I can do in five minutes.”
Laura stepped back into the kitchen where the light was better. Bill followed, the screen door slapping shut behind him.
“Lean forward,” he commanded softly.
She obeyed and he gently slid the frames over her nose. His brow knotted with concentration as he hooked them around her ears. “There,” he murmured, his fingers skimming across the sensitive skin just below her lobe. “How do they feel?”
“Fine,” she replied, reaching up to pat the glasses into place.
“Only...” He reached out and cupped her cheek.
“What?” she asked guilelessly, looking up at him expectantly.
His only answer was to lower his mouth and brush his lips across hers, only the slightest of tickles from his mustache's bristles. She’d imagined such a man to kiss hard and straightforward, but instead this kiss was sweet and its gentleness was her undoing. She lost herself in the moment. Goose pimples broke out across her flesh, her head felt light, her hands crept up and clung to his broad shoulders. He smelled faintly of tobacco and leather--dangerous but familiar.
He kissed her again, still closed-mouth and undemanding. She squeezed her legs together tightly, determined to ignore the ache this mere kiss was eliciting.
Somewhere in her fog-induced brain she heard the sound of an automobile’s motor approaching. He also must have heard the vehicle; he slowly drew back.
She exhaled a sharp breath and forced herself to look in his direction. The corners of his mouth were twitching with a grin. Of course it was all a joke to him. Give the plain farmgirl a thrill.
"Why did you do that?" she snapped.
He pushed his hand into his pocket and brought out a gold cigarette case. "You looked like you wanted to be kissed."
"First, I didn't--” she started, shaking her head in the negative when he offered her a cigarette. “And second, I thought gentlemen don't kiss ladies who wear glasses,” she finished bitterly.
He tapped a cigarette against the case before placing it between his lips, her eyes following each movement greedily. As if controlled by puppeteer's strings, her hand reached out and took the cigarette from his mouth. Nice ladies didn't allow strangers to kiss them, or even smoke cigarettes, but with the thunder shaking the house, blocking out any rational thought, Laura could do nothing else.
Bill smiled slowly. "This gentleman does," he rasped.
At that moment, she realized he still had an arm around her waist, and the minister's wife was at the screen door, taking in the whole scene: Laura Roslin, Adair's school mistress, in the embrace of a strange man in grubby clothes, accepting his offer of a cigarette.
And sure enough, Ellen Cavil's shrill voice cut right through the stormy night. "Why, Laura! What a surprise!"
II.
The preacher's blonde wife tossed her head back. Her blue eyes glowed with interest. “Laura Roslin, aren’t you the dark horse.”
Of all the people who had to walk in just at this exact moment, it had to be Ellen Cavil. And of course, Ellen would read more into the situation than was there. Not that she had to; whatever conclusion Ellen had come to, Laura had probably acted worse, kissing a man she’d only just met...
Bill Adams wasn’t helping either. He wasn’t making any effort to remove his arm from its place around her waist. As if she was one of Bill Adams’ many possessions after one kiss!
She tried to wriggle free, slow enough not to draw Ellen’s attention to her predicament.
“Jonathan and I heard about all the excitement with the airplane in your field, dear, and we decided to come on over.” Ellen looked from Bill to Laura and then down at the unlit cigarette still perched awkwardly between Laura’s fingers. “Looks like we were just in time.”
“Yes, of course.” As calmly as possible, Laura slipped the cigarette into the pocket of her skirt.
“Ellen Cavil--” Before Laura could finish the introduction, they were all distracted by Jake and his shrill yaps.
“Oh dear,” Laura sighed resignedly and finally felt Bill’s arm drop away so that she could rush out onto the porch where, sure enough, Jonathan Cavil was backed up against the wall, cowering while Jake snarled and snapped at him.
“Jake!” she called, exasperated.
“Are you sure this beast hasn’t been infected with rabies?” Cavil growled, pointing at her dog one of his spindly fingers.
Jake circled around, still growling, until he was placed between the older man and his mistress.
Bill and Ellen had followed her onto the porch. The aviator stood so close behind her that she was sure she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
The other woman began to sneeze. “Jonathan and I could never keep a dog with my allergies,” Ellen complained, reaching into her handbag and placed a handkerchief over her mouth.
She addressed her husband: “I don’t think Laura’s dog is fond of men, Jonathan. Richard and Tom told me he does exactly the same thing to them.”
Cavil narrowed his eyes. “When were you talking with Richard and Tom?” he asked.
She shrugged, nonchalant. “I suppose it was one day after church, dear.”
Cavil, apparently not satisfied with his wife’s offhand reply, pressed: “What sermon could have evoked a discussion about the school teacher’s dog?”
Ignoring the husband and wife, Bill crouched down and pat Jake.
Ellen didn’t miss the dog’s behavior; a perfect opportunity to change her husband’s focus. “Obviously, you’re a very old friend of Laura’s. Are you a mechanic Mr Adams sent for?”
“Ellen, dear,” said Cavil, “this is Bill Adams.” He turned toward Bill. “Reverend Jonathan Cavil. As soon as I heard you’d chosen Adair as a place to complete your repairs, Mr Adams, I came right over.”
Bill stood slowly and accepted Cavil’s outstretched hand. “I didn’t really have much choice, Reverend.”
“Of course not,” Ellen chirped, the handkerchief in her hand fluttering. “You’ve been to so many more exciting places than Adair. You must tell us all about your adventures!”
“Adair has much to offer,” Cavil corrected his wife sharply, before again addressing Bill. “So many sinful lusts are placed before a man or woman in the larger cities. So many--”
Ellen cut off her husband quickly. Once a week was obviously enough for her as well. “Exactly. Miss Roslin couldn’t possibly entertain a male guest--”
“Of course not,” Bill injected smoothly.
“She must be the highest moral example for our town's beloved children at all times,” Cavil added.
“It’s a sacrifice,” Ellen agreed.
Bill again retrieved his cigarette case from his pocket. “Is smoking a sin?” he asked.
“Only for the ladies,” Cavil insisted, nodding eagerly at Bill’s offering. “Men find these simple pleasures much less addictive,” he claimed as Bill lit the two cigarettes.
“Jonathan tells me that a lot of women find alcohol makes them forget their sensibilities. But I can drink the wine at communion with absolutely no effects.” Ellen wiped at the porch’s railing with her handkerchief before leaning against it. “Sins of the flesh are the most evil. I insist you not stay here and tempt poor Laura, Mr Adams.”
Bill Adams’ face remained impassive as Ellen almost purred her words. “Miss Roslin’s been kind enough to offer me accommodation out in her barn,” he told the couple.
“Her barn?” Cavil repeated, his eyes narrowing again.
“Yes, there’s a hayloft--”
“Well, Mr Adams, we can’t have you staying out in a hayloft! Jonathan and I can offer much more than that!” She reached over and squeezed one of Bill’s thick arms, squealing a little as she did. “You do need a proper bed, Mr Adams. And a nice deep bath to clean up in.”
“No, really.” Bill took a step away from Ellen, leaning his head over the railing to look up to the sky; it had stopped raining. Then, he turned back and met Laura’s gaze head on. “I need to stay close...”
“To the plane, of course,” Ellen drawled.
“Yes,” Bill agreed. “I should get back to it. Please, don’t let me keep you from your visit with Miss Roslin; if you’re staying to dine.”
“No!” she and the Cavils all cried in unison.
“Not that we wouldn’t love to stay, Laura, but Jonathan has so much to still do for Sunday,” Ellen insisted.
“We’ll see you then in church, Mr Adams?” Cavil enquired.
Bill hesitated for a brief moment. “I might be busy; with the plane. I suppose I should get to bed. It's been a long day. Up at dawn to fly."
"I'm sure," said Laura, giving him a pained smile. "If you need anything, please just ask," she offered daringly in front of her minister.
Bill smiled back in thanks.
"Truly, Mr. Adams, you should come with us," said Ellen. "I insist!"
"I'll want to start back on my repairs first thing in the morning," Bill said, clattering down the back porch steps. "I'll just get to bed here."
Ellen called after him. “Oh, Mr Adams, if you're still in town on Saturday night, you must attend the Summer Barn Dance at the Baltar farm!”
"It's hardly on par with your sort of entertainments," Laura mumbled when he turned back with a grin on his face.
"Sounds like a treat," he replied. Stubbing out his cigarette, he gave his goodbyes to the Cavils, along with a promise to come to the local event.
Blushing at the thought of this international playboy at their annual fete, Laura excused herself as well to finish making her dinner. Taking a hint, the Cavils left, roaring away in their rattling old Ford.
~*~
Laura was scraping her pork chops loose from the bottom of the cast iron frying pan. It took a lot of effort, so she didn't hear the tapping at the backdoor at first until Jake yipped.
She whirled around and pushed her curls back from her damp forehead. "Oh hello, Mr. Adams."
"Bill," he said, smiling through the screen door at her.
"What is it?" she asked. Smelling something burning, she moved the pan off the flame, thinking furiously. Had he returned, knowing the Cavils were gone? Perhaps to steal another kiss?
"I wondered if I could borrow a book?" He remained outside the door and she realized she was being inhospitable.
Opening the door, she motioned him in. "Of course. Come into the parlor. I have a number of books."
Following Bill, she turned on the lamp in the small front room of the farmhouse and waited while he inspected her humble library. She assumed that he had a bookcase-lined library in his mansion with thousands of volumes...Sure enough, he said, "I don't see what I was looking for."
She tossed her head. "I'm sorry my collection isn't up to your standards..."
"I'm sure you have what I want," he said, that rough voice making her shiver. "I'm looking for something..." He stepped closer. "More dangerous."
"Dangerous?" she squeaked, twisting her apron in her hands.
"Yeah, like that book you were reading earlier today."
"I told you, that wasn't mine." Her eyes shifted toward the stairwell. She was such a terrible liar--
He grinned. "Oh come on, Miss Roslin. We're here alone now."
Yes, they were. "Laura," she said.
"Laura, where are the books?"
She tipped her head toward the stairs.
"Will you show me the way?" There was a challenge in his tone.
She locked her gaze with his. Something told her this was not a man who would not take anything which was not offered to him freely and surely not by force. But from the humor sparking in his eyes' azure depths, she saw that he was not below teasing this small-town schoolmarm. Probably thought it would give her a thrill to imagine a man in her boudoir.
Stomping from the room, she tossed over her shoulder. "This way."
After a hesitation, Bill mounted the stairs.
She flung open the door to her bedroom and led him in.
Bill stepped over the threshold. It was a small room, but lovely in its own way. She'd polished the wooden floors and centered a deep rose pink rug. The curtains were pale yellow chiffon. The full moon shone through them, leaving a pool of warm light on the single bed.
He couldn't hide his smile when he saw the narrow bed. He heard a low hiss from Laura and schooled his features. Its chenille cover had clusters of yellow and pink roses, reminding him of a piece of cake with frosting.
Laura went to a cabinet beside her walnut dresser and opened the doors. Rows of paperback books were tightly packed on shelves.
"Do you order them through the mail?" Bill asked as he moved to check the titles.
"Yes. They come wrapped in brown paper," she confessed.
He chuckled. The sound traveled up her spine.
Surprising her, he removed a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket and quickly inspected the titles. Making a selection, he slid a slim novel out, closed the cabinet and gave her a smile. "Thanks," he said, then left the room.
She stood in the center, her fingers plucking at the flower on her bedcover, staring at the empty doorway. Finally, she slowly walked out, flicking the light off behind her.
She found Bill in the kitchen, sniffing at the air. "Pork chops," he said in a leading way.
"Yes, pork chops," she acknowledged. "Would you like to join me?" she said with little grace.
"Thanks for asking," he said, quickly sitting at her small kitchen table.
She finished the meal and slapped it on the plates, not sure why she felt angry. Bill read the book's first chapter while she worked and only looked up when she clanked the plate before him.
"Thank you so much," he said with complete sincerity and she found herself unbending a bit as she removed her apron and joined him at the table.
"It's not Cordon Bleu," she admitted.
He'd cut the first bite from the chop. "I'm so hungry, it'll be like dining at the Waldorf," he said with a grin. Then he put the piece of meat in his mouth and started chewing. His smile faded, but he kept gamely masticating.
Fortunately, Laura was too busy sawing through her own chop to notice.
He washed his food down with several gulps of water. "I really appreciate this, Laura. This is the small town hospitality I hear about."
"You're welcome," she said gloomily.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, tipping his head.
"No," she said with finality.
Bill nodded and concentrated on cutting his hard potatoes.
She glared at his bowed head of thick hair.
He peeped at her from under his thick brows. "May I ask something, Laura?"
She sipped her water nervously. "Of course."
"Why hasn't a gorgeous gal like you ever married?"
She opened her mouth to protest his nosiness, but then she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She thought of making excuses. Suddenly it seemed important to tell her the truth.
"You see, Bill--"
The screen door banged open. "Still here, Mr. Adams?" Sam asked.
With a rueful smile for Laura which made her irrationally happy, Bill swung around in his chair and greeted the farmhand. "Miss Roslin very kindly shared her meal with me," he noted.
Sam rubbed his belly. "Giles' wife put out a great spread for us," he said, smacking his lips. He glanced at Laura and Bill's half-empty plates and managed to repress his shudder.
"And I've enjoyed my dinner as well," said Bill, who then wiped his lips with the napkin and rose from the table. "May I help clean up, Miss Roslin?"
She gave a shake of her head. "I will take care of that, Mr. Adams. You and Sam should check on the plane before calling it an evening."
"I'll say good evening then," Bill said, nodding in reply.
She stood at the screen door, watching their glamorous visitor stride across the back field toward the barn, a trail of cigarette smoke behind him in the moonlight. With a sigh, she finally turned away.
~*~
Classes dragged the next day. Laura found herself at the schoolhouse window often, looking toward her barn. The doors stood open. Occasionally Bill standing in the sun enjoying a smoke, wearing his coveralls. Just as school was over, and she was hurrying through cleaning up while the detention students served their time, she saw her old farm pickup drive by.
Bill sat beside Sam and the men waved at her. Shoulders slumped, she headed home, her feet dragging. Jake followed, his tail and ears limp in sympathy.
She was grading papers in her parlor when she heard the phone ring. Rarely receiving calls, she hurried to answer it. "Hello?" she said breathlessly.
"Hey."
"Oh, hello," she said.
Not noticing her cool tone, Bill cheerfully said, "I'm in town."
"I saw you wave," she said dryly.
"Oh right."
She sat on the stool by the wall phone. "Well...Are you planning to stay at Mrs. Harper's boarding house?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I thought perhaps you weren't comfortable in the hay loft."
"Slept like a little piggie in his manger," he rumbled and she couldn't contain a giggle.
He laughed along with her. "You're cute," he suddenly said.
Alone in the house, she blushed deep red. "I'm not cute. I'm too old to be cute."
He strongly protested: "I'm older than you, and I think you're cute."
For some reason, Laura felt tears coming to her eyes. It had been a very long time since any man had had teased her. She gulped down her emotions. "What are you doing in town then?"
"Oh right," he said. "I thought I'd buy some groceries, since you're so kind to feed me."
She'd brought a fried egg sandwich out for him this morning before school, but thought nothing of it.
"You don't need to do that," she insisted.
"I want to," he said. "You like anything in particular?"
"Is that why you called?" she asked with wonder. Men very rarely asked her opinion.
"Of course," he said and quickly added, "I'll be cooking tonight, so think of something you would enjoy."
"You're going to cook for me?" No one had done that since she was a child. As the oldest, she'd been her mother's helper and neither liked cooking much. "Then surprise me," she said daringly.
"I'd like to surprise you, Laura Roslin," the low, rough voice said and she had to wipe her brow with her handkerchief.
"You already have," she said with spirit.
"I'll just have to try harder then," he promised.
"Goodbye, Mr. Adams," she said quickly but still heard his laugh as she hung up.
When Bill returned, he shooed her from the kitchen. "Surely you have some housework to do," he told her.
"I suppose I could do some darning," she said slowly.
"Sure," he said, holding his arm across the kitchen door.
"Did you ask Sam what he wanted for dinner?" she asked, wincing at her clumsy attempt at sounding nonchalant.
Bill grinned at her, seeing through her question. "He's headed off to dine with his friends again."
"What a shame," she said, giving him a small smile. "We'll just dine alone."
"Guess so," he said and closed the kitchen door in her face.
She headed upstairs, wondering if she had anything to wear suitable for an engagement with one of the most eligible men in the country.
Bill called from the bottom of the stairs, "Miss Roslin. Your meal awaits."
"I'm already downstairs," Laura said from behind him. He turned and caught his breath.
She was in the doorway of the rarely used dining room. "I was setting the table," she told him.
He looked her over and she found herself stiffening. She was not some classy Park Avenue lady. She was a small town schoolteacher, wearing her second best ensemble. Worse, it was her church outfit; a simple blue suit and white blouse! The only difference was that she did not pin the neckline together on the crossed closure, leaving a daring amount of her cleavage visible.
And then he smiled and it was filled with appreciation and wanting. She smiled back.
"Nice dress," he said. He glanced down at his work shirt and pants. "I should change--"
"Do you have a set of evening clothes in that plane of yours?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
She giggled again and his grin widened. "I'll be back in a second--"
"No, you're fine the way you are," she insisted. "I need you to be a bit on your back foot anyway," she said impishly.
"Let me get dinner then," he said, ducking into the kitchen.
With her heart thudding, she returned to the dining room to light the white tapered candles on the table.
"Nice," he said behind her as he carried in fragrant plates of food.
"Thank yo--" She stared at the plates. "Oh, that's lovely!" She looked toward the kitchen. "Did you sneak a chef into the house with you?"
"You don't believe I can cook?" he said, trying to sound affronted.
He held out her chair for her, and she lowered into it. "It's just so very difficult to me," she sighed.
Masking his expression, Bill came to sit beside her, ignoring the place she'd set at the end of the long table.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have any liquor in the house," she admitted. "It seems a shame to not enjoy this without wine." She took in the dish of chicken, beans and potatoes. But it looked like nothing she'd ever prepared. The potatoes were carved into little balls and the beans finely sliced. The chicken has been cut away from the bone and flattened into a nice even shape. It didn't have any of the burnt edges or raw middle as happened when she tried to cook a chicken breast.
"Enjoying it?" Bill asked and she realized she'd been eating steadily without speaking.
"Yes, thank you," she said primly, putting down her knife and fork. She blinked owlishly at him. "How are the repairs going to your plane?"
His expression darkened. "Not well. I'd thought it was just a clogged fuel line, but it appears that I've got an airflow issue. That's a design problem."
"Oh dear," she said faintly. "I know how important this is to you."
"Yes, to all of us."
"You truly believe war in eminent?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
"Yes."
She looked at him in the warm candlelight, noticing the shadows on his craggy face. "The world will never be the same, not even Adair," she said, but it came out as a question.
"No..." Bill toyed with his food. "Do you ever think about leaving Adair? I mean, do you have family here?"
She pushed back her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. "Do you remember asking why I wasn't married?"
He raised a wide palm. "Please, Laura. I was being impertinent--"
Determined, she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I went away to Des Moines for teacher's college. I had dreamed of attending college in Chicago, to travel...But..."
His hand found hers on the linen tablecloth and engulfed it with his warm fingers.
"My parents had been the town's teachers. This farm was a holdover from my grandparents, but my father kept it going with hands and sharecroppers. Teaching was their true love. I enjoy it too, but--"
"But you wanted to see the world," Bill guessed.
"It was selfish of me," she murmured.
His brow creased but Bill remained silent.
"Then my parents died...First my mother when I was still in high school, then my father with my sisters. I was alone, but so was Adair. No teachers..."
"So you went to Des Moines," he encouraged.
"Where I met a man I knew from Adair."
Bill's hand tightened around hers, giving her the confidence to continue. "I believed we'd marry when we returned home. I..."
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the fingers. It was a gentle gesture.
"I behaved as though he was already my husband," she finally confessed. She expected his touch to snatch away. Instead, he pressed her palm to his cheek, so she could feel the warmth of his breath.
Taking a deep breath, she went on: "He promised me his grandmother's ring when we went home for Christmas. But I had one more exam, so he took the train down early without me--"
Bill shifted his chair closer to hers and put his arm around her shoulders.
"When I arrived, there he was on the front page of the newspaper, announcing his engagement to a girl from the next town over. Her father was the mayor. She was wearing his grandmother's ring."
Kissing her temple, Bill murmured, "I'm so sorry, Laura."
"I'm not sorry I didn't marry that sort of man," she assured Bill. "But now I'm used goods. I couldn't possibly marry--"
"Oh Laura, that's ridiculous," he insisted roughly, breaking the delicate bubble of he'd created around them with his gentle touch and low tone. "These local rubes wouldn't know any better. Give 'im some story about horseback riding!"
As outraged as she was, she still laughed. "But Bill, everyone in town knows I'm frightened of horses. No one would believe that!"
She moved away. "Truly, it has not mattered. I've had my work, the farm. It's been a happy life." She didn't sound very convinced even to her own ears.
"I do want you to be happy," Bill said.
She turned to confront him, surprised to find him still sitting so close. "Why is that, Bill? We've known each other a day."
He didn't touch her again, but she felt as though he was all around her as his intense gaze met hers. "But it seems as though I've known you much longer than a day."
She rose, breaking the spell. If she'd remained in her chair, she didn't know what may happen... "As you cooked supper, I'll clean up." She snatched away the plates.
He followed her to the kitchen. "I'll dry," he said, his voice distant.
Putting on an apron, she shook her head. "I've got it," she said, forcing herself to sound bright.
"I suppose I'll head back to my loft then," he said.
"So, this air problem...Will you be able to repair it?" she asked as she filled the sink with hot water.
He stared at her for a long moment. "I don't know. I'll work on it some more tomorrow. Giles Tyrol is trying to fabricate a new hose clamp. I'll have to see if it'll hold."
"I wish you well with that," she said, putting on her apron. "I'm sure you want to be off as soon as possible."
"I do need to get back to San Francisco," Bill said shortly. "Business concerns."
"Of course," she replied without looking up from her dishwashing. "Thank you for dinner."
"Any time," he said but he was at the back door. "Good night then."
Her back stayed to him. "Good night."
By the time she'd finished washing up--oddly, the pans he used came clean much more quickly than when she cooked--it had begun to rain. She went upstairs and changed for bed. The rain came down harder, lashing her bedroom window.
She peered out toward the barn. Bill only had one blanket...And what if the roof were leaking into the hayloft?
Refusing to think any further, she pulled on her raincoat over her nightgown, tucked a spare blanket under it, and headed across the field to the barn. Jake followed closely, his head low against the heavy rain.
She slipped through the opening of the barn doors. Jake hurried to the tarp-draped plane and sniffed around. In the dim barn, Laura looked up the ladder to the dark loft above. She should just call up to Bill and ask if he needed the extra blanket.
But before she could speak, a voice barked from the hayloft: "Who's there?"
"It's me," she said, her voice wavering.
His tousled head appeared in the opening. "Is something wrong?"
"I thought perhaps you needed another blanket...Or there might be a leak in the roof?" This sounded weak, even to her.
His teeth were bright in the dark as he grinned down at her. "Now you're the one to surprise me, Laura."
She certainly surprised herself with her next bold statement. “I’d like to surprise you, Bill Adams.”
He grinned even wider. "So bring that blanket on up here, Miss Roslin. I can feel the cold in my bones something terrible."
There was daring in his voice, but no aggression. She knew that she could simply toss the blanket up and flee,and he wouldn't take offense.
She did hurl the blanket above her head, but then climbed the ladder after it. He grasped her arms and lifted her easily.
"Oh," she gasped, finding her footing under her. Now that she was up there, she wasn't feeling so brave. "Thank you," she said primly.
He chuckled and flung the extra blanket atop the other in his nest. He wore only a white sleeveless undershirt and striped shorts. In the dim loft, his bare limbs glowed.
Fumbling, she found the damp, bent cigarette she'd shoved in her coat pocket from her skirt's, and placed it between her lips. She'd seen Bette Davis make this move in many a flick. "Have a light?" she said throatily.
He glanced around. "Not a good idea to smoke in a hayloft."
Her seduction failed before it could even start. "Yes, of course," she garbled, dropping the limp cigarette.
He cracked open the loft's hatch to look out at the storm. The lightning was striking in a field miles away, lighting up the night.
"Sure hope you have a lightning rod on this barn," he said, his own voice sounding nervous.
"We could always go back to the house if you're worried," she said, coming close to look out. Thunder clapped overhead, shaking the whole barn. His arm slipped around her waist as if to support her. She swayed into his sturdy body.
His mouth was close to her ear to be heard over the rattling rain on the roof. "You know we can't go to the house."
She thought of her narrow bed. "No, we can't."
"So I suppose you should get on back," Bill said, his hand sliding of her hip.
Laura blinked away tears. "I don't want to get wet," was all she could think of as a protest.
"If you stay..." Bill's strong arm was back around her. "I'm not letting you go."
Laura wrapped her arms tightly around his strong chest and pressed him toward the haypile. She was about to become a fallen woman but it wasn't going to be from tumbling out of the hayloft.
~ end 1/2
Authors: aussie and bugs
Genre: A/U (of the A/U), Romance, Humor
Word Count:17,700
Rating: M
A/N: So sorry, faithful readers. We will get back to Unavailable, we swear. But we needed a fic for about_time's 12 Days of Christmas, so we went to our favorites, the Adams!
"Children, see you tomorrow," the schoolteacher called after her students as they streamed out of the small schoolhouse.
"Goodbye, Miss Roslin," a few strangled cries replied. The boys tossed a ball among themselves as they skipped down the country road toward their homes. The girls gathered in chattering knots and followed behind. None of them gave any more attention to their middle-aged teacher as she lingered on the school steps.
She should wipe off the chalkboards and gather the books. Sweep the floor, clean the washroom... Instead, she snagged her book from her desk, wandered to a little creek which bordered the dusty playground, and sank down in the shade of an oak tree.
She loved teaching, loved her students, but needed these moments in her own secret world. Slipping off her sensible, low-heeled shoes and opaque stockings, she dropped her feet into the cooling waters of the stream. Then she opened her thick leather-bound book. With curious children's eyes gone, there was no one to notice that she kept a slim paperback with bright colors and a racy image on the cover between the pages of her serious tome.
A damp nose touched the back of Laura's neck under her sensible bun of thick hair, causing her to gasp. "Jake," she scolded her shephard.
When the dog settled down beside her, his bright eyes watching sparrows swooping along the water, Laura returned to her book, adjusting her glasses. She was transported worlds away from her own small town life of teaching classes, housekeeping and gardening on Saturday, church on Sunday. No dull days--no, these pages held rain-slicked streets, treacherous women, braver than Laura could ever be, and hard-eyed men who made her heart race.
There was not a single exciting man in Adair, Iowa--not even Richard Adair himself.
A deep roar filled the air; an airplane approached the schoolhouse and her adjourning family farm.
Changing her focus from the page to the sky, Laura squinted upward. The strong afternoon sun glowed on the silver belly of the plane, coming in too low and too fast.
Laura leapt up, her books falling forgotten by her feet.
Jumping the stream, she ran, waving her arms wildly in the air to gain the pilot’s attention. He was bearing down on her farm's barn. Beside her Jake barked and spun in circles.
The plane clipped the windvane off the barn, then banked, coming back toward the cornfield with its waving green stalks, and straight at Laura. She stopped, horrified, as the plane touched down, tearing up plants, bounced up again, then down with a sickening crunching sound, digging up dirt and corn stalks as it slowed.
"Jake!" Laura yelled, calling her dog back. Grabbing him close, she fell to the ground, hoping for some protection from the whirling propellers of the speeding plane. Her hair fell out of its bun and her glasses slid off her nose.
The plane finally came to rest a dozen yards from the teacher and her companion. She struggled to her feet. The propellers were still turning, catching her cotton dress's skirt, flipping it up high above her waist. Fighting to shove it down, Laura cursed in an unladylike fashion, even more angry with each indignity.
Bill Adams pushed back the canopy on his single-seat experimental airplane and wriggled out of the tight cockpit. He clamored onto the wing of the listing ship. Pushing up his goggles, he unfastened the chin strap on his flying helmet and looked around. He'd been concentrating on landing, but he swore he'd seen a woman running across the field after a dog, and the flash of a great set of gams--
"Excuse me!" yelled at him from below the wing.
He peered down. A barefoot woman stood among trampled corn, covered in mud, her face dirty, and red curls tangled around her angry face. Green eyes blazed at him. Her well-shaped chest heaved. A farm lass from the look of it--
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” she immediately demanded.
He slowly removed his helmet. “Landing,” he drawled, jumping down from the wing. Completely undaunted, the woman stepped closer. He saw she was older than he’d thought at first. Maybe she was the farmer’s wife; come to demand money.
A black and white dog slinked from behind her, growling menacingly, its lips curled back to bare sharp teeth. Bill crouched down, removing his gloves as he did, and offered the dog the back of his hand.
While he petted and scratched the dog, its mistress kept ranting: “Landing on my crops! Right next to a schoolhouse too. When there’s a road just over there.”
“It’s not wide enough,” he tried to explain. “I would have knocked out a couple of miles of telephone poles. Plus there was a vehicle on it already.”
“There was?” Temporarily distracted by the idea, the woman stood on tiptoes as if she could see the road from their current position. “Oh yes, that’ll have been Sam returning from the feed store. He can help you right this thing and get on your way.”
Bill squinted at the plane’s tires, bogged down in the field's soil. Her husband, Sam, had been in a pickup. Bill assumed they had a tractor, but would it damage his creation to be dragged from the cornfield?
“I’ll need more than a little help,” he said, running his hand along the fuselage next to its name painted on the aluminum; Phoenix. It didn’t feel like it had overheated, at least. “Have you got a telephone, ma’am? I need to put through a call to San Francisco and a local mechanic. I’ll pay--”
She placed her hands on her hips. “You betcha you’re going to pay, buster,” she growled.
With a sigh, he looked over her head, noting the ripped up trail of crops the plane had caused. “I’ll wire through some money to cover the damage and the rental of your barn.”
She swung her head toward the barn and then back to him. He kept his gaze respectfully on the ground near her feet. Although, her trim calves reminded him of the quick view of the full length of her legs.
“My barn?”
“If I could just keep the plane there while it’s repaired,” he said evenly. "I passed over storm clouds about ten miles back. Rain is coming."
“Look, Mr...”
“Adams. Bill Adams,” he introduced himself.
He saw her expression alter when his name and the dollar signs associated with it registered. He tensed, waiting for one of the usual acts which dames put on when thinking about fame and fortune.
“The Bill Adams?”
Who hadn't heard of Bill Adams? Hero of the Great War, son of a wealthy California ranching and now oil family, brave aviator, chased by every heiress and starlet now that he was widowed--his photograph was constantly in her Chicago newspapers.
She hadn't recognized him at first. In the flesh, he looked rougher and frankly, tougher than the gentleman in evening dress or standing by one of his airplanes with a silk flying scarf around his neck. His gaze was alive and mesmerizing, coming from vivid blue eyes. His dark hair was obviously curly when not held in place by hair oil. But his neatly trimmed mustache seemed out of place on his rugged face, as though he were trying to be Clark Gable.
Keeping all these thoughts to herself, she eyed him up and down a couple of times. “I’ve seen your picture in the paper. You look shorter in real life,” she added sarcastically.
He raised one eyebrow. “Don't worry, I can cut anyone down to size when necessary,” he shot back, but then took a deep breath. “Say, Mrs--”
“Miss. Miss Laura Roslin.”
Unmarried? Perhaps she’d lost a sweetheart in the Great War-- “I can’t appeal to your patriotism? Our boys will be flying this exact plane in the coming war,” he noted, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.
“America’s not in the war,” she reminded him.
“We will be soon,” he declared solemnly. “We’ll--”
Bill never got to finish his lecture. Instead, they both heard a tractor puttering across the field, following the plane’s path, a well-built young man bouncing on the seat.
“Looks like the cavalry’s arrived,” Bill murmured, turning back to his reluctant hostess.
As though her approaching field hand reminded her of propriety, she began twisting her hair up in its bun. “You may use the barn,” she agreed ungraciously. “And the telephone.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Laura stomped over to where her glasses had fallen in the mud. She tried to put them on, but the frames were twisted and the lenses smeared with mud.
"I'm sorry," he said, completely sincere.
"I just need them for reading," she said tightly.
"I can repair them." He held out his hand and after a moment's hesitation, she gave them to him. He slipped them in his jacket pocket.
Sam hopped off the tractor. "What's this, Miz Roslin?" he said in his slow, careful way.
"A particularly large crow has pulled up our crops, Sam."
"I'll pay for those as well," offered Bill.
Laura tossed her head and a curl came loose from her bun again. He smiled at her, a flash of strong white teeth under his narrow black mustache. Before she could think of a retort, he turned his attention to Sam, explaining carefully how to hook up the valuable airplane.
Seeing the men occupied, Laura remembered her books, and wandered as nonchalantly as she could manage back toward the stream.
"I'll meet you up at the barn," she called out. Bill raised his head and waved at her; Sam continued to work at the ropes he was attaching to the plane.
She was used to Sam's polite indifference. But this stranger's gaze was too familiar by a half. She'd have to keep her guard up with such a man as this, accustomed to ladies falling at his feet and giggling at his every word--he'd cut her down to size indeed!
Even Jake was proving to be smitten. He always enjoyed their visits to the shady area beside the stream but now, instead of skipping along behind her, sniffing curiously at every blade of grass, he sat at Bill Adams’ feet. She never knew her pet to be such a fickle beast.
Pulling on her hose and shoes, she gathered up her books and crossed the brook again at the small footbridge on the path to her farm. By now, Sam was hauling the downed plane across the field and the flier followed behind, his leather jacket, jodhpurs and high boots looking particularly ridiculous in an Iowa cornfield.
But by the time she entered the barn and was blinking at the darkness, Bill Adams had retrieved his small travel bag from the plane and changed into greasy coveralls.
He was speaking to Sam about a mechanic to contact. Jake met her at the door and nudged her hand. She huffed, but gave him a quick pat before he moved to near the barn door where he curled up to doze.
"Giles Tyrol's probably your best bet," Sam said. "He takes care of our tractors."
"This isn't a tractor," Bill said in horror.
"Why don't your run over to Mr. Tyrol's house and fetch him," suggested Laura. "He's not on the telephone," she explained to Bill.
He shook his head. "In these modern times, to not have a phone--"
"Not everyone trusts those wires coming into their house," Sam said, indignant. "God knows what those things might be doing."
Bill started to protest but Laura waved Sam away.
"I'll light a lantern," she said stiffly once they were alone. She set her books on the workbench, but they slipped and fell to the ground.
"Let me get those..." Bill said before she could stop him. His eyebrows raised at the racy cover of her potboiler. "Well, well, Miss Roslin."
She improvised quickly. "One of my students. I'd confiscated it."
She was a terrible liar; she could hear it in her voice. Also, she hated that she had to lie at all--worry about what people would think. Oh, to be one of this man's sort of women, who'd laugh this moment off and offer him a cocktail and a cigarette. Her only pack of cigarettes were hidden in an old shoebox under her bed, bought on her last trip to Des Moines so not to be seen by any local townfolk making such a scandalous purchase, and her only alcohol was to rub on cuts.
"Okay," he said with an easy smile, and set her books back on the workbench.
"How long do you expect to be here?" she asked, hoping to change the topic.
"At least overnight," he admitted. "I may have to tear this motor down even."
"Oh no," she gasped. "...You'll need a place to sleep."
"S'pose so," he said and there was that grin again.
"You can't sleep at the house," she whispered.
The first crack of lightning could be heard in the distance, and the air was suddenly humid.
"Of course not," he said.
She strode over to the ladder to the hayloft. "You're welcome to sleep up here. I'm sure it's nothing like what you're accustomed to."
"You'd be surprised at what I'm used to," he rejoined.
Just to show him that she was game, she started to climb the ladder. Halfway up, and feeling the breeze rising in her skirt, she realized this was a mistake.
"Just this way," she said briskly but not daring to look down for fear of seeing him taking a peek.
"Sure," he said, sounding amused. The ladder creaked at his added weight, and she scrambled up into the hayloft in a very undignified fashion.
"I'll bring some blankets from the house," she explained as she turned around to face him.
He climbed into the loft. "That would be nice. Thanks."
"I'm sure you're used to satin sheets," she said, a challenge in her voice.
"Silk."
"Not hay," she pointed out.
He fell back onto the mound of crisp hay, putting his hands behind his head. "Reminds me going to the family ranchero as a boy. My uncle had a place..."
"Yes, you're from an old California family."
"You know a lot about a man from far away."
She touched her hair again, checking for any stray strands. "You're a very famous man, Mr. Adams. I believe in keeping up on current events, for the sakes of my students. Just because they live in Adair, Iowa, doesn't mean they should be ignorant as to the ways of the world."
"Yes, the world is coming to them, whether they want it or not."
"This war you're convinced is going to happen?" she said sharply.
"In your reading of current events, you don't believe it'll happen?"
"President Roosevelt says--"
He chuckled, a deep, rich sound in the dark and she forgot what they were talking about for a moment.
"The President says what he knows Congress and certain other political forces want to hear. He'll do what is necessary for America's interests and those of our allies."
"Well, of course he's helping England and France--"
"And Norway--" His grin was bright in the dim light.
"I am concerned about profiteers pushing us into this war so they may make money," she said, her voice rising. She glanced into the barn below to his plane.
His smile disappeared. "You may be assured I am not such a person. I was in the last war to end all wars. I know that the best way to end wars is superior weaponry. And I'll do everything in my power to provide that when the time comes."
"I suppose you should call San Francisco," she said, overcome by the tension in the air.
"Yes, thank you," he said, equally put off.
Suddenly, the barn filled with the clattering of rain and hail.
"The storm broke," she said unnecessarily.
"Maybe we should stay up here a bit longer," he said, the warmth back in his tone.
From below, Sam called out, "Anyone here?" He lit a lantern, the warm light glowed in the evening's gloom.
Irrationally furious, Laura stuck her head through the hatch. "Yes, Sam, what is it?"
"What're you doin' up there, Miz Roslin?" he asked.
"I was showing Mr. Adams the accommodation," she tossed back.
Bill's laugh sounded wicked in the dark, a warm breath on her neck. He must be very close...
"I've got Giles," Sam replied, incurious. "He's here to help with this here airplane."
Of course, he wouldn't imagine the schoolmarm would be up to something in the hayloft, Laura thought angrily as she swung out onto the ladder.
But she responded with her cool, tempered voice as she descended: "Thank you, Sam and Giles."
Bill followed, and she glanced up to see his strong thighs taking the rungs one by one. She allowed herself to enjoy the view for a brief moment, then turned away.
"I'll get up to the house and start supper," she announced, "and leave you gentlemen to it."
Sam introduced Bill to the friendly-faced mechanic and the flier shook Tyrol's hand.
"Speaking of supper," said Bill, "could I borrow the truck to go to town for some grub?"
Sounding utterly ungracious, even to her, she said, "I'll be happy to provide you with a meal, Mr Adams. I cook for Sam as well."
Sam jerked his head to Tyrol with more animation than he'd shown yet to Bill "Actually, Miz Roslin, Giles offered me supper with him and Sharon. I'll be drivin' him back over there anyways."
"So just the two of us." Bill Adams' smile was back.
"Just the two of us," Laura said faintly, then backed away and hurried from the barn, the slashing rain not even registering on her suddenly heated limbs.
Once safely inside her bedroom, she hurried to change from her wet clothing. She slid the sodden blouse off her shoulders, instantly finding herself imagining it was Bill Adams’ hands dragging at the material so that he could touch her bare skin...
She threw the blouse across the room, and it landed with a satisfying plop. The rest of her clothing joined it until she formed a pile in the corner.
She quickly donned her plain white underwear and searched through her wardrobe for something to wear that would keep her inappropriate thoughts about Bill Adams at bay. Finally she settled on a long, loose brown skirt and a high collared white blouse, an outfit she wore when Reverend Cavill preached the Sunday services.
After a quick check in the mirror to assure that her hair was again tightly secured in a bun, she was heading to the kitchen. Once there she wondered about her foolish offer to make dinner. She was quite certain there could be nothing suitable for a man who was accustomed to dining as Bill Adams was sure to be. A man of his wealth would have a slew of servants waiting on him, including a chef. While her cooking hardly received glowing accolades. Her basket was always the last bid on at the church picnics.
A sharp knock made her jump.
“Miss Roslin?” Bill Adams called to her through the screen of the open back door.
She willed herself to keep her movements unhurried despite her pounding heart. This man would have enough eager women throwing themselves at his feet.
Still, when she opened the screen door, she found herself leaning against jamb, striking a pose like some femme fatale straight out of a movie.
“Oh, Mr Adams, you’re all wet,” she breathed. He'd shed his coveralls as a way to dress for dinner, but was drenched as he'd run from the barn to the house. His khaki shirt clung to his wide shoulders and she didn't dare let her gaze drop to his damp snug jodhpurs.
“Yeah,” he ran his hand through his hair, squeezing out some of the excess moisture, and drawing attention to the dark waves curling up of their own accord at his collar.
“Mr Adams--”
“Call me Bill,” he suggested.
“All right,” she agreed. She licked her lips and leaned more heavily against the jamb for support. “Laura,” she offered, longing to hear his husky tones repeat her name aloud.
Jake chose this moment to join them. Having followed Bill Adams through the rain back to the house, he took it upon himself to shake out his fur vigorously, sending spray in her direction.
“Jake. Bed,” she scolded, jumping out of the way.
As the dog slinked away with his tail between his legs and settled into a basket at the other end of the porch, Laura realized she was now standing very close to Bill Adams. He braced his hand above her hand on the jamb, as if sheltering her from the rain pouring off the porch roof behind him.
Standing straighter, she glanced over her shoulder. “Did you want to use the telephone?”
“Later," he said. "Brought you these." He drew out her spectacles from his shirt pocket where they'd remained safe and dry.
“You’ve fixed them already?”
He shrugged, nonchalant. “Mr Tyrol seems to be quite capable. I had less to explain about my plane's engine than I thought.”
“Yes,” she said, glancing past him to the lanterns burning in the barn. Giles and Sam seemed well occupied...
"So you'll be off at dawn?" she asked, her voice cracking.
He didn't answer her question. “Try them on.” He opened the stems and held the glasses to her face. “I might need to adjust them again,” he added.
“Don’t let me keep you.” She waved her arm toward the phone hanging on the wall. “I can get them adjusted in town tomorrow if they aren’t right.”
“No need to spend your time on something I can do in five minutes.”
Laura stepped back into the kitchen where the light was better. Bill followed, the screen door slapping shut behind him.
“Lean forward,” he commanded softly.
She obeyed and he gently slid the frames over her nose. His brow knotted with concentration as he hooked them around her ears. “There,” he murmured, his fingers skimming across the sensitive skin just below her lobe. “How do they feel?”
“Fine,” she replied, reaching up to pat the glasses into place.
“Only...” He reached out and cupped her cheek.
“What?” she asked guilelessly, looking up at him expectantly.
His only answer was to lower his mouth and brush his lips across hers, only the slightest of tickles from his mustache's bristles. She’d imagined such a man to kiss hard and straightforward, but instead this kiss was sweet and its gentleness was her undoing. She lost herself in the moment. Goose pimples broke out across her flesh, her head felt light, her hands crept up and clung to his broad shoulders. He smelled faintly of tobacco and leather--dangerous but familiar.
He kissed her again, still closed-mouth and undemanding. She squeezed her legs together tightly, determined to ignore the ache this mere kiss was eliciting.
Somewhere in her fog-induced brain she heard the sound of an automobile’s motor approaching. He also must have heard the vehicle; he slowly drew back.
She exhaled a sharp breath and forced herself to look in his direction. The corners of his mouth were twitching with a grin. Of course it was all a joke to him. Give the plain farmgirl a thrill.
"Why did you do that?" she snapped.
He pushed his hand into his pocket and brought out a gold cigarette case. "You looked like you wanted to be kissed."
"First, I didn't--” she started, shaking her head in the negative when he offered her a cigarette. “And second, I thought gentlemen don't kiss ladies who wear glasses,” she finished bitterly.
He tapped a cigarette against the case before placing it between his lips, her eyes following each movement greedily. As if controlled by puppeteer's strings, her hand reached out and took the cigarette from his mouth. Nice ladies didn't allow strangers to kiss them, or even smoke cigarettes, but with the thunder shaking the house, blocking out any rational thought, Laura could do nothing else.
Bill smiled slowly. "This gentleman does," he rasped.
At that moment, she realized he still had an arm around her waist, and the minister's wife was at the screen door, taking in the whole scene: Laura Roslin, Adair's school mistress, in the embrace of a strange man in grubby clothes, accepting his offer of a cigarette.
And sure enough, Ellen Cavil's shrill voice cut right through the stormy night. "Why, Laura! What a surprise!"
II.
The preacher's blonde wife tossed her head back. Her blue eyes glowed with interest. “Laura Roslin, aren’t you the dark horse.”
Of all the people who had to walk in just at this exact moment, it had to be Ellen Cavil. And of course, Ellen would read more into the situation than was there. Not that she had to; whatever conclusion Ellen had come to, Laura had probably acted worse, kissing a man she’d only just met...
Bill Adams wasn’t helping either. He wasn’t making any effort to remove his arm from its place around her waist. As if she was one of Bill Adams’ many possessions after one kiss!
She tried to wriggle free, slow enough not to draw Ellen’s attention to her predicament.
“Jonathan and I heard about all the excitement with the airplane in your field, dear, and we decided to come on over.” Ellen looked from Bill to Laura and then down at the unlit cigarette still perched awkwardly between Laura’s fingers. “Looks like we were just in time.”
“Yes, of course.” As calmly as possible, Laura slipped the cigarette into the pocket of her skirt.
“Ellen Cavil--” Before Laura could finish the introduction, they were all distracted by Jake and his shrill yaps.
“Oh dear,” Laura sighed resignedly and finally felt Bill’s arm drop away so that she could rush out onto the porch where, sure enough, Jonathan Cavil was backed up against the wall, cowering while Jake snarled and snapped at him.
“Jake!” she called, exasperated.
“Are you sure this beast hasn’t been infected with rabies?” Cavil growled, pointing at her dog one of his spindly fingers.
Jake circled around, still growling, until he was placed between the older man and his mistress.
Bill and Ellen had followed her onto the porch. The aviator stood so close behind her that she was sure she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
The other woman began to sneeze. “Jonathan and I could never keep a dog with my allergies,” Ellen complained, reaching into her handbag and placed a handkerchief over her mouth.
She addressed her husband: “I don’t think Laura’s dog is fond of men, Jonathan. Richard and Tom told me he does exactly the same thing to them.”
Cavil narrowed his eyes. “When were you talking with Richard and Tom?” he asked.
She shrugged, nonchalant. “I suppose it was one day after church, dear.”
Cavil, apparently not satisfied with his wife’s offhand reply, pressed: “What sermon could have evoked a discussion about the school teacher’s dog?”
Ignoring the husband and wife, Bill crouched down and pat Jake.
Ellen didn’t miss the dog’s behavior; a perfect opportunity to change her husband’s focus. “Obviously, you’re a very old friend of Laura’s. Are you a mechanic Mr Adams sent for?”
“Ellen, dear,” said Cavil, “this is Bill Adams.” He turned toward Bill. “Reverend Jonathan Cavil. As soon as I heard you’d chosen Adair as a place to complete your repairs, Mr Adams, I came right over.”
Bill stood slowly and accepted Cavil’s outstretched hand. “I didn’t really have much choice, Reverend.”
“Of course not,” Ellen chirped, the handkerchief in her hand fluttering. “You’ve been to so many more exciting places than Adair. You must tell us all about your adventures!”
“Adair has much to offer,” Cavil corrected his wife sharply, before again addressing Bill. “So many sinful lusts are placed before a man or woman in the larger cities. So many--”
Ellen cut off her husband quickly. Once a week was obviously enough for her as well. “Exactly. Miss Roslin couldn’t possibly entertain a male guest--”
“Of course not,” Bill injected smoothly.
“She must be the highest moral example for our town's beloved children at all times,” Cavil added.
“It’s a sacrifice,” Ellen agreed.
Bill again retrieved his cigarette case from his pocket. “Is smoking a sin?” he asked.
“Only for the ladies,” Cavil insisted, nodding eagerly at Bill’s offering. “Men find these simple pleasures much less addictive,” he claimed as Bill lit the two cigarettes.
“Jonathan tells me that a lot of women find alcohol makes them forget their sensibilities. But I can drink the wine at communion with absolutely no effects.” Ellen wiped at the porch’s railing with her handkerchief before leaning against it. “Sins of the flesh are the most evil. I insist you not stay here and tempt poor Laura, Mr Adams.”
Bill Adams’ face remained impassive as Ellen almost purred her words. “Miss Roslin’s been kind enough to offer me accommodation out in her barn,” he told the couple.
“Her barn?” Cavil repeated, his eyes narrowing again.
“Yes, there’s a hayloft--”
“Well, Mr Adams, we can’t have you staying out in a hayloft! Jonathan and I can offer much more than that!” She reached over and squeezed one of Bill’s thick arms, squealing a little as she did. “You do need a proper bed, Mr Adams. And a nice deep bath to clean up in.”
“No, really.” Bill took a step away from Ellen, leaning his head over the railing to look up to the sky; it had stopped raining. Then, he turned back and met Laura’s gaze head on. “I need to stay close...”
“To the plane, of course,” Ellen drawled.
“Yes,” Bill agreed. “I should get back to it. Please, don’t let me keep you from your visit with Miss Roslin; if you’re staying to dine.”
“No!” she and the Cavils all cried in unison.
“Not that we wouldn’t love to stay, Laura, but Jonathan has so much to still do for Sunday,” Ellen insisted.
“We’ll see you then in church, Mr Adams?” Cavil enquired.
Bill hesitated for a brief moment. “I might be busy; with the plane. I suppose I should get to bed. It's been a long day. Up at dawn to fly."
"I'm sure," said Laura, giving him a pained smile. "If you need anything, please just ask," she offered daringly in front of her minister.
Bill smiled back in thanks.
"Truly, Mr. Adams, you should come with us," said Ellen. "I insist!"
"I'll want to start back on my repairs first thing in the morning," Bill said, clattering down the back porch steps. "I'll just get to bed here."
Ellen called after him. “Oh, Mr Adams, if you're still in town on Saturday night, you must attend the Summer Barn Dance at the Baltar farm!”
"It's hardly on par with your sort of entertainments," Laura mumbled when he turned back with a grin on his face.
"Sounds like a treat," he replied. Stubbing out his cigarette, he gave his goodbyes to the Cavils, along with a promise to come to the local event.
Blushing at the thought of this international playboy at their annual fete, Laura excused herself as well to finish making her dinner. Taking a hint, the Cavils left, roaring away in their rattling old Ford.
~*~
Laura was scraping her pork chops loose from the bottom of the cast iron frying pan. It took a lot of effort, so she didn't hear the tapping at the backdoor at first until Jake yipped.
She whirled around and pushed her curls back from her damp forehead. "Oh hello, Mr. Adams."
"Bill," he said, smiling through the screen door at her.
"What is it?" she asked. Smelling something burning, she moved the pan off the flame, thinking furiously. Had he returned, knowing the Cavils were gone? Perhaps to steal another kiss?
"I wondered if I could borrow a book?" He remained outside the door and she realized she was being inhospitable.
Opening the door, she motioned him in. "Of course. Come into the parlor. I have a number of books."
Following Bill, she turned on the lamp in the small front room of the farmhouse and waited while he inspected her humble library. She assumed that he had a bookcase-lined library in his mansion with thousands of volumes...Sure enough, he said, "I don't see what I was looking for."
She tossed her head. "I'm sorry my collection isn't up to your standards..."
"I'm sure you have what I want," he said, that rough voice making her shiver. "I'm looking for something..." He stepped closer. "More dangerous."
"Dangerous?" she squeaked, twisting her apron in her hands.
"Yeah, like that book you were reading earlier today."
"I told you, that wasn't mine." Her eyes shifted toward the stairwell. She was such a terrible liar--
He grinned. "Oh come on, Miss Roslin. We're here alone now."
Yes, they were. "Laura," she said.
"Laura, where are the books?"
She tipped her head toward the stairs.
"Will you show me the way?" There was a challenge in his tone.
She locked her gaze with his. Something told her this was not a man who would not take anything which was not offered to him freely and surely not by force. But from the humor sparking in his eyes' azure depths, she saw that he was not below teasing this small-town schoolmarm. Probably thought it would give her a thrill to imagine a man in her boudoir.
Stomping from the room, she tossed over her shoulder. "This way."
After a hesitation, Bill mounted the stairs.
She flung open the door to her bedroom and led him in.
Bill stepped over the threshold. It was a small room, but lovely in its own way. She'd polished the wooden floors and centered a deep rose pink rug. The curtains were pale yellow chiffon. The full moon shone through them, leaving a pool of warm light on the single bed.
He couldn't hide his smile when he saw the narrow bed. He heard a low hiss from Laura and schooled his features. Its chenille cover had clusters of yellow and pink roses, reminding him of a piece of cake with frosting.
Laura went to a cabinet beside her walnut dresser and opened the doors. Rows of paperback books were tightly packed on shelves.
"Do you order them through the mail?" Bill asked as he moved to check the titles.
"Yes. They come wrapped in brown paper," she confessed.
He chuckled. The sound traveled up her spine.
Surprising her, he removed a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket and quickly inspected the titles. Making a selection, he slid a slim novel out, closed the cabinet and gave her a smile. "Thanks," he said, then left the room.
She stood in the center, her fingers plucking at the flower on her bedcover, staring at the empty doorway. Finally, she slowly walked out, flicking the light off behind her.
She found Bill in the kitchen, sniffing at the air. "Pork chops," he said in a leading way.
"Yes, pork chops," she acknowledged. "Would you like to join me?" she said with little grace.
"Thanks for asking," he said, quickly sitting at her small kitchen table.
She finished the meal and slapped it on the plates, not sure why she felt angry. Bill read the book's first chapter while she worked and only looked up when she clanked the plate before him.
"Thank you so much," he said with complete sincerity and she found herself unbending a bit as she removed her apron and joined him at the table.
"It's not Cordon Bleu," she admitted.
He'd cut the first bite from the chop. "I'm so hungry, it'll be like dining at the Waldorf," he said with a grin. Then he put the piece of meat in his mouth and started chewing. His smile faded, but he kept gamely masticating.
Fortunately, Laura was too busy sawing through her own chop to notice.
He washed his food down with several gulps of water. "I really appreciate this, Laura. This is the small town hospitality I hear about."
"You're welcome," she said gloomily.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, tipping his head.
"No," she said with finality.
Bill nodded and concentrated on cutting his hard potatoes.
She glared at his bowed head of thick hair.
He peeped at her from under his thick brows. "May I ask something, Laura?"
She sipped her water nervously. "Of course."
"Why hasn't a gorgeous gal like you ever married?"
She opened her mouth to protest his nosiness, but then she saw the sincerity in his gaze. She thought of making excuses. Suddenly it seemed important to tell her the truth.
"You see, Bill--"
The screen door banged open. "Still here, Mr. Adams?" Sam asked.
With a rueful smile for Laura which made her irrationally happy, Bill swung around in his chair and greeted the farmhand. "Miss Roslin very kindly shared her meal with me," he noted.
Sam rubbed his belly. "Giles' wife put out a great spread for us," he said, smacking his lips. He glanced at Laura and Bill's half-empty plates and managed to repress his shudder.
"And I've enjoyed my dinner as well," said Bill, who then wiped his lips with the napkin and rose from the table. "May I help clean up, Miss Roslin?"
She gave a shake of her head. "I will take care of that, Mr. Adams. You and Sam should check on the plane before calling it an evening."
"I'll say good evening then," Bill said, nodding in reply.
She stood at the screen door, watching their glamorous visitor stride across the back field toward the barn, a trail of cigarette smoke behind him in the moonlight. With a sigh, she finally turned away.
~*~
Classes dragged the next day. Laura found herself at the schoolhouse window often, looking toward her barn. The doors stood open. Occasionally Bill standing in the sun enjoying a smoke, wearing his coveralls. Just as school was over, and she was hurrying through cleaning up while the detention students served their time, she saw her old farm pickup drive by.
Bill sat beside Sam and the men waved at her. Shoulders slumped, she headed home, her feet dragging. Jake followed, his tail and ears limp in sympathy.
She was grading papers in her parlor when she heard the phone ring. Rarely receiving calls, she hurried to answer it. "Hello?" she said breathlessly.
"Hey."
"Oh, hello," she said.
Not noticing her cool tone, Bill cheerfully said, "I'm in town."
"I saw you wave," she said dryly.
"Oh right."
She sat on the stool by the wall phone. "Well...Are you planning to stay at Mrs. Harper's boarding house?"
"Why would I do that?"
"I thought perhaps you weren't comfortable in the hay loft."
"Slept like a little piggie in his manger," he rumbled and she couldn't contain a giggle.
He laughed along with her. "You're cute," he suddenly said.
Alone in the house, she blushed deep red. "I'm not cute. I'm too old to be cute."
He strongly protested: "I'm older than you, and I think you're cute."
For some reason, Laura felt tears coming to her eyes. It had been a very long time since any man had had teased her. She gulped down her emotions. "What are you doing in town then?"
"Oh right," he said. "I thought I'd buy some groceries, since you're so kind to feed me."
She'd brought a fried egg sandwich out for him this morning before school, but thought nothing of it.
"You don't need to do that," she insisted.
"I want to," he said. "You like anything in particular?"
"Is that why you called?" she asked with wonder. Men very rarely asked her opinion.
"Of course," he said and quickly added, "I'll be cooking tonight, so think of something you would enjoy."
"You're going to cook for me?" No one had done that since she was a child. As the oldest, she'd been her mother's helper and neither liked cooking much. "Then surprise me," she said daringly.
"I'd like to surprise you, Laura Roslin," the low, rough voice said and she had to wipe her brow with her handkerchief.
"You already have," she said with spirit.
"I'll just have to try harder then," he promised.
"Goodbye, Mr. Adams," she said quickly but still heard his laugh as she hung up.
When Bill returned, he shooed her from the kitchen. "Surely you have some housework to do," he told her.
"I suppose I could do some darning," she said slowly.
"Sure," he said, holding his arm across the kitchen door.
"Did you ask Sam what he wanted for dinner?" she asked, wincing at her clumsy attempt at sounding nonchalant.
Bill grinned at her, seeing through her question. "He's headed off to dine with his friends again."
"What a shame," she said, giving him a small smile. "We'll just dine alone."
"Guess so," he said and closed the kitchen door in her face.
She headed upstairs, wondering if she had anything to wear suitable for an engagement with one of the most eligible men in the country.
Bill called from the bottom of the stairs, "Miss Roslin. Your meal awaits."
"I'm already downstairs," Laura said from behind him. He turned and caught his breath.
She was in the doorway of the rarely used dining room. "I was setting the table," she told him.
He looked her over and she found herself stiffening. She was not some classy Park Avenue lady. She was a small town schoolteacher, wearing her second best ensemble. Worse, it was her church outfit; a simple blue suit and white blouse! The only difference was that she did not pin the neckline together on the crossed closure, leaving a daring amount of her cleavage visible.
And then he smiled and it was filled with appreciation and wanting. She smiled back.
"Nice dress," he said. He glanced down at his work shirt and pants. "I should change--"
"Do you have a set of evening clothes in that plane of yours?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
She giggled again and his grin widened. "I'll be back in a second--"
"No, you're fine the way you are," she insisted. "I need you to be a bit on your back foot anyway," she said impishly.
"Let me get dinner then," he said, ducking into the kitchen.
With her heart thudding, she returned to the dining room to light the white tapered candles on the table.
"Nice," he said behind her as he carried in fragrant plates of food.
"Thank yo--" She stared at the plates. "Oh, that's lovely!" She looked toward the kitchen. "Did you sneak a chef into the house with you?"
"You don't believe I can cook?" he said, trying to sound affronted.
He held out her chair for her, and she lowered into it. "It's just so very difficult to me," she sighed.
Masking his expression, Bill came to sit beside her, ignoring the place she'd set at the end of the long table.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have any liquor in the house," she admitted. "It seems a shame to not enjoy this without wine." She took in the dish of chicken, beans and potatoes. But it looked like nothing she'd ever prepared. The potatoes were carved into little balls and the beans finely sliced. The chicken has been cut away from the bone and flattened into a nice even shape. It didn't have any of the burnt edges or raw middle as happened when she tried to cook a chicken breast.
"Enjoying it?" Bill asked and she realized she'd been eating steadily without speaking.
"Yes, thank you," she said primly, putting down her knife and fork. She blinked owlishly at him. "How are the repairs going to your plane?"
His expression darkened. "Not well. I'd thought it was just a clogged fuel line, but it appears that I've got an airflow issue. That's a design problem."
"Oh dear," she said faintly. "I know how important this is to you."
"Yes, to all of us."
"You truly believe war in eminent?" she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.
"Yes."
She looked at him in the warm candlelight, noticing the shadows on his craggy face. "The world will never be the same, not even Adair," she said, but it came out as a question.
"No..." Bill toyed with his food. "Do you ever think about leaving Adair? I mean, do you have family here?"
She pushed back her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. "Do you remember asking why I wasn't married?"
He raised a wide palm. "Please, Laura. I was being impertinent--"
Determined, she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I went away to Des Moines for teacher's college. I had dreamed of attending college in Chicago, to travel...But..."
His hand found hers on the linen tablecloth and engulfed it with his warm fingers.
"My parents had been the town's teachers. This farm was a holdover from my grandparents, but my father kept it going with hands and sharecroppers. Teaching was their true love. I enjoy it too, but--"
"But you wanted to see the world," Bill guessed.
"It was selfish of me," she murmured.
His brow creased but Bill remained silent.
"Then my parents died...First my mother when I was still in high school, then my father with my sisters. I was alone, but so was Adair. No teachers..."
"So you went to Des Moines," he encouraged.
"Where I met a man I knew from Adair."
Bill's hand tightened around hers, giving her the confidence to continue. "I believed we'd marry when we returned home. I..."
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the fingers. It was a gentle gesture.
"I behaved as though he was already my husband," she finally confessed. She expected his touch to snatch away. Instead, he pressed her palm to his cheek, so she could feel the warmth of his breath.
Taking a deep breath, she went on: "He promised me his grandmother's ring when we went home for Christmas. But I had one more exam, so he took the train down early without me--"
Bill shifted his chair closer to hers and put his arm around her shoulders.
"When I arrived, there he was on the front page of the newspaper, announcing his engagement to a girl from the next town over. Her father was the mayor. She was wearing his grandmother's ring."
Kissing her temple, Bill murmured, "I'm so sorry, Laura."
"I'm not sorry I didn't marry that sort of man," she assured Bill. "But now I'm used goods. I couldn't possibly marry--"
"Oh Laura, that's ridiculous," he insisted roughly, breaking the delicate bubble of he'd created around them with his gentle touch and low tone. "These local rubes wouldn't know any better. Give 'im some story about horseback riding!"
As outraged as she was, she still laughed. "But Bill, everyone in town knows I'm frightened of horses. No one would believe that!"
She moved away. "Truly, it has not mattered. I've had my work, the farm. It's been a happy life." She didn't sound very convinced even to her own ears.
"I do want you to be happy," Bill said.
She turned to confront him, surprised to find him still sitting so close. "Why is that, Bill? We've known each other a day."
He didn't touch her again, but she felt as though he was all around her as his intense gaze met hers. "But it seems as though I've known you much longer than a day."
She rose, breaking the spell. If she'd remained in her chair, she didn't know what may happen... "As you cooked supper, I'll clean up." She snatched away the plates.
He followed her to the kitchen. "I'll dry," he said, his voice distant.
Putting on an apron, she shook her head. "I've got it," she said, forcing herself to sound bright.
"I suppose I'll head back to my loft then," he said.
"So, this air problem...Will you be able to repair it?" she asked as she filled the sink with hot water.
He stared at her for a long moment. "I don't know. I'll work on it some more tomorrow. Giles Tyrol is trying to fabricate a new hose clamp. I'll have to see if it'll hold."
"I wish you well with that," she said, putting on her apron. "I'm sure you want to be off as soon as possible."
"I do need to get back to San Francisco," Bill said shortly. "Business concerns."
"Of course," she replied without looking up from her dishwashing. "Thank you for dinner."
"Any time," he said but he was at the back door. "Good night then."
Her back stayed to him. "Good night."
By the time she'd finished washing up--oddly, the pans he used came clean much more quickly than when she cooked--it had begun to rain. She went upstairs and changed for bed. The rain came down harder, lashing her bedroom window.
She peered out toward the barn. Bill only had one blanket...And what if the roof were leaking into the hayloft?
Refusing to think any further, she pulled on her raincoat over her nightgown, tucked a spare blanket under it, and headed across the field to the barn. Jake followed closely, his head low against the heavy rain.
She slipped through the opening of the barn doors. Jake hurried to the tarp-draped plane and sniffed around. In the dim barn, Laura looked up the ladder to the dark loft above. She should just call up to Bill and ask if he needed the extra blanket.
But before she could speak, a voice barked from the hayloft: "Who's there?"
"It's me," she said, her voice wavering.
His tousled head appeared in the opening. "Is something wrong?"
"I thought perhaps you needed another blanket...Or there might be a leak in the roof?" This sounded weak, even to her.
His teeth were bright in the dark as he grinned down at her. "Now you're the one to surprise me, Laura."
She certainly surprised herself with her next bold statement. “I’d like to surprise you, Bill Adams.”
He grinned even wider. "So bring that blanket on up here, Miss Roslin. I can feel the cold in my bones something terrible."
There was daring in his voice, but no aggression. She knew that she could simply toss the blanket up and flee,and he wouldn't take offense.
She did hurl the blanket above her head, but then climbed the ladder after it. He grasped her arms and lifted her easily.
"Oh," she gasped, finding her footing under her. Now that she was up there, she wasn't feeling so brave. "Thank you," she said primly.
He chuckled and flung the extra blanket atop the other in his nest. He wore only a white sleeveless undershirt and striped shorts. In the dim loft, his bare limbs glowed.
Fumbling, she found the damp, bent cigarette she'd shoved in her coat pocket from her skirt's, and placed it between her lips. She'd seen Bette Davis make this move in many a flick. "Have a light?" she said throatily.
He glanced around. "Not a good idea to smoke in a hayloft."
Her seduction failed before it could even start. "Yes, of course," she garbled, dropping the limp cigarette.
He cracked open the loft's hatch to look out at the storm. The lightning was striking in a field miles away, lighting up the night.
"Sure hope you have a lightning rod on this barn," he said, his own voice sounding nervous.
"We could always go back to the house if you're worried," she said, coming close to look out. Thunder clapped overhead, shaking the whole barn. His arm slipped around her waist as if to support her. She swayed into his sturdy body.
His mouth was close to her ear to be heard over the rattling rain on the roof. "You know we can't go to the house."
She thought of her narrow bed. "No, we can't."
"So I suppose you should get on back," Bill said, his hand sliding of her hip.
Laura blinked away tears. "I don't want to get wet," was all she could think of as a protest.
"If you stay..." Bill's strong arm was back around her. "I'm not letting you go."
Laura wrapped her arms tightly around his strong chest and pressed him toward the haypile. She was about to become a fallen woman but it wasn't going to be from tumbling out of the hayloft.
~ end 1/2